


Fallacy of Logic

by manicExpressive



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Gen, Introspection, M/M, Mental Health Issues, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-28 16:27:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10137302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manicExpressive/pseuds/manicExpressive
Summary: Logically he knows it’s not true. But his mind hasn’t been a place for logic.Or an Even introspection piece.





	

Logically he knows it’s not true. But his mind hasn’t been a place for logic.

He knows that the walls around him are wood-framed and plaster, though they feel as if they are heavy with cold concrete. He knows that the sun rises every morning as it did the day before and will the next day, but when it sets he still thinks that it might be just as well if it decided not to. He knows that the sun, nor the air around him is sentient and able to make those sorts of decisions, but when every breath feels like a battle, they might as well be fighting against him.

It’s completely illogical. Which is why it’s hard to fight with logic.

He can count the days since he last felt like moving, but a number doesn’t erase the feeling of eternity. It’s silly, he thinks, and overly dramatic. Yet the heaviness in his heart might as well be a ball in chain, keeping him firmly rooted in a moment of numbness that floats on the edge melancholy.

It comes and goes in waves—one moment he will be staring blankly at the wall, mind blessedly empty, and the next thing he knows is his throat will choke with a sob that will come to exhaust him after another twenty minutes. He sleeps with that exhaustion and then his mind keeps him awake when he would rather it quiet down. It isn’t wild and uncontrollable, but it’s oppressive when it won’t stop.

This isn’t the first time, he’ll remind himself. There have been other times and they all passed.

Sure, he thinks. But what if this time it doesn’t? What if this is the last time and he can’t handle it anymore?

Yet the more he ruminates, the heavier his chest feels. A part of him hates himself for giving in to the sort of circular logic that self-validates his fears, which only fuels his reasoning to why he can’t handle it anymore. Clearly, he’s stupid enough to fall into something that he would not tolerate in other people. Would he ever want his friends to talk to themselves like this? No.

Funny, because he suddenly feels like what relationships he has are distant and untouchable.

Logically he knows that, in most cases, nothing has changed. Conceptually he understands the whispers of doubt in his head originated there as well. That if he wanted he could reach out and touch someone that loves him.

But he can’t.

Instead, he lets it tear him up inside. Impending loneliness settles into his bones, hollowing them out completely. At least it kills the sadness, if only for a moment. It’s a calm acceptance, _knowing_ that there’s no point in trying. It will always be like this. Somehow, it will always be like this.

He could just reach out. Ten centimeters at best.

To warmth. To acceptance.

But it feels needy, unearned. The selfish part of him wants to be acknowledged and to be loved. The rational part of him knows that allowing his fingers to crawl across the mattress and rest against that shoulder won’t change anything. He is loved and accepted.

He just doesn’t feel like it. He doesn’t deserve it.

And it’s no one’s fault but his own.

He doesn’t say as much, because he’s afraid it will do a disservice to what’s already been done to him. After all, Isak has shown again and again that it’s all of Even that he wants.

Even knows this, but he doesn’t feel it. Not right now.

Logic doesn’t have a place in his hollowed out head and heart.

So instead he’ll watch the rise and fall of his boyfriend’s chest. The way his eyelashes flutter against his cheekbones in the pale moonlight that filters through the window. He’ll ignore the way his heart wakens from numbness to clench tightly in his chest—he doesn’t deserve this person.

He doesn’t say it anymore, though. He promised he wouldn’t.

Even wills the numbness to return, but it doesn’t. Each moment fills his head, making him heavy with guilt pressing hard onto his skull. He turns around, facing the opposite side of the room.

He’ll cry quietly to himself until his eyes run dry and just hope it will wear him out enough for sleep to pull him down. Before Isak has to wake up and pretend not to notice the dampness on his pillow.

Logic tells him that Isak always does, he just doesn’t say anything about it.

His heart thanks him for it.

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be honest, I've been feeling down and thought writing this through Even's experiences might be cathartic. So to completely whiplash from the last one-shot of fluff I wrote, instead we've got Even introspection during one of his lows.
> 
> I'm putting this out here for everyone...as a reminder that we aren't alone, even when it feels impossible untrue. Sometimes we're alone inside our heads. But there are people who understand what that's like.


End file.
